


Perhaps Hopeless Isn't a Place

by ShowMeAHero



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Major Character Injury, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Clark is stupid, self-sacrificing, selfish, selfless. He flies a kryptonite bomb into space like it doesn'tmeananything, without a second thought. Bruce wants to give him a piece of his mind, wants to pull him out of the sky, wants to do something, anything, except hecan't.He can't do shit except watch.





	Perhaps Hopeless Isn't a Place

**Author's Note:**

> Title pulled from "[Good Mourning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8M5HDGYLDH4)" by Halsey.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell are they trying to shoot us with?” Barry asked, flicking around another bullet so it slammed into the wall. Clark ignored him, staring straight ahead, taking increasingly slower steps. Bruce shoved at him a little to keep him moving, and Clark just started going again, staring straight ahead. He could feel each kryptonite bullet that pierced through his suit, sending pulsing waves of pain through him, increasingly weaker as he walked.

“These terrorists,” Victor said, picking a bullet out of his gears and flicking it to the ground, “they misunderstand our intentions. They think-”

“Doesn’t matter what they think,” Arthur said. “Matters what they do, and right now, they’re shooting at us.”

Diana cast a worried glance in Clark’s direction, but he just kept moving forward. He could still see, straight ahead, through the many doors and walls, the dirty bomb, set to detonate at any moment. He could hear the ticks, echoing inside of his head, and just forced himself to keep moving through the burning pain of the slivers of kryptonite.

“Keep moving, Clark,” Bruce’s voice came from behind him, and Clark realized he had shut his eyes again, his feet halting against the sliding steel of the floors. Clark forced himself to reopen his eyes and start moving forward again, one step at a time, letting other people take care of the terrorists firing on them at every available opportunity. He could barely focus on the team anymore, let alone the terrorists, but he could still see the bomb. He stayed focused on the bomb, dragging himself forward.

Clark reached the last door, the last obstacle between them and the bomb, and, with the last of his strength, shoved it off its hinges and onto the ground. It clattered with the horrible sound of scraping metal, and Clark looked at the bomb.

Then, he looked again.

“Fuck,” he said. Bruce stopped beside him as Clark leaned in the doorway, unable to hold himself up on his own any longer.

“What?” Bruce asked. He stepped forwards, examining the bomb carefully. “Oh, Christ, this is going to go off in seconds. Diana-”

“No time,” Clark said, hauling himself to his feet again and staggering forwards. He could feel the weight of the kryptonite inside of him, but he kept going. Scanning the bomb gave him a quickly inventory of the contents of the bomb - dynamite, mustard gases, any number of radioactive materials, and, of course, kryptonite. Because nothing can be easy.

“Kal-El, what are you doing?” Diana asked, falling into the space beside Bruce. She looked down at the bomb. “I don’t-”

“Neither do I,” Clark said. He folded up the bomb gingerly into its case and stuffed it under its arm.

“Oh, Christ, what is that?” Barry asked, zipping into the room beside him. “Oh, Jesus. That’s got a shitload of nuclear bullshit in it, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does,” Clark said, and he pushed off from the ground, rocketing through the roof, wincing at the pain he could feel, knowing the kryptonite was taking its toll. He forced himself to go further, and further, feeling his energy draining from him with each inch he gained, feeling the pain course through him. He tried to forget about the Earth below him, to just focus on what he was doing - hopefully, that was  _ saving the planet,  _ namely, and Bruce in particular.

He broke through the cloud cover, then further, even further, going as high as he could go, hearing the bomb tick down, and down, and down, until -

Until nothing.

Then, in the silence, everything.

* * *

Bruce punched through the first wall, then the second, before Diana got the hint and started after him, taking down walls faster than Bruce could pass through the openings she left behind. Barry zipped ahead of him, and was already standing outside, staring directly up into the sky, by the time Bruce got out there.

“Oh, shit,” Barry said, softly, as Bruce finally found the shape of Clark flying at a dizzying angle up through the cloud cover, leaving a small hole behind. Bruce shifted as necessary to follow him, to make sure he wasn’t doing anything  _ too  _ colossally stupid, but it was  _ Clark,  _ so, chances weren’t looking too good.

“Jesus,” Bruce said, quietly, watching Clark hurtle up even further, into the nearly-dusk light of space. The rush of blood filled his ears, and, in the silence, he wouldn’t have been surprised to have heard a pin drop. He wondered if Clark felt that way all the time, or the opposite. He stared, unblinking, making his eyes burn, unwilling to tear his eyes away. The moment felt frozen, suspended in time, even as his heart pounded and Diana took his hand in hers and everything seemed to blur around him.

Fucking  _ Clark. _

Bruce watched as the explosion ruptured so high in the air, too high to cause any damage to anyone on the ground, but still so close to the shape that was Clark. There was nothing, for a moment, and Bruce wondered how the fuck he was supposed to get into space to pull Clark back down. Then, he saw it: a tiny missile, flying back towards the Earth at top speed. Diana’s fingers tightened around his, and he realized, it was  _ Clark,  _ hurtling back to the ground.

Clark, just a small dart, so far away, was falling from the sky, seemingly unable to stop his own trajectory as he hurtled away from the explosion to the ground. He sliced through the atmosphere, through the clouds, then starting to crash through buildings, all while Bruce could do nothing but  _ watch.  _ His heart made a valiant effort to get vomited onto the ground while Bruce just stared. Everything was silent, unmoving, except for Clark, as he slammed into the ground, the concrete giving around him, and laid there, the dust and debris settling around him.

Diana’s grip was gone from Bruce’s hand as she sprinted forwards, Barry hot on her heels, then far in front of her, already at Clark’s side, kneeling beside him. Bruce still couldn’t hear. He felt glued to the spot, aching, like everything was completely unreal around him.

He blinked, once, then twice. Diana’s voice started coming through, like a voice muddled through water, and then sounds returned all at once. Bruce’s palms felt cold and clammy under his gloves as he ran forwards, feeling each and every ounce of his suit on his body, slowing him down. He yanked off the overpieces of the suit just to go faster, just to get there sooner, anything, everything that could help.

“Kal-El, wake up,” Diana was saying, so loudly in the deafening silence. Bruce knelt down beside her, on Clark’s other side, and watched as she slapped Clark straight across the face, making his eyes snap open with her strength. His head snapped to the side, and he groaned, shutting his eyes again. Diana rattled him a little, and he slid his eyes open again, making eye contact with Bruce.

Bruce never,  _ ever  _ wanted to see that wild, desperate look in Clark’s eyes again, if he could help it.

Even if he couldn’t, he decided.

Clark reached up, touching at his throat, and Bruce finally caught on to the wheezing sounds he was making. Some fucking detective he was; Clark’s skin was oozing all over, red blood and glowing green, kryptonite dotting his skin like freckles. Clark’s fingers, gloved in some places, burned away in others, gripped his throat.

“Help,” he rasped, not looking away from Bruce’s eyes. “Please.”

“Kryptonite,” Bruce said. He looked up at Diana. “It’s the kryptonite, there’s too much.”

“Barry,” Diana said, and suddenly Barry’s hands were blurring, tearing out piece after piece of kryptonite from Clark’s skin. Diana kept going at her own pace, digging out the bigger chunks, the harder ones to reach, while Bruce slid out one of his long, thin knives and started picking out any fragment he could reach. Bruce finally leaned forward, sliding his hands under Clark’s arms, and trying to lift him.

“He’s stuck,” Diana said, leaning around him. “Hold him forward.”

Bruce pulled Clark close, ignoring the grotesque familiarity of the situation, how normally Clark was held so intimately in his hands, but now, here they were - Clark bleeding out under him, torn to shreds, barely breathing, with Bruce’s heart in this throat, pounding like he was the one dying.

Diana reached underneath Clark and helped lift him, grabbing hold of the large chunk of pipe pinning him to the ground and bracing herself against Clark’s back.

“Ready?” she asked. Bruce just nodded. She got her grip steady, then tore the pipe free. Clark groaned, just quietly, his head slumping forward listlessly against Bruce’s neck and shoulder. He exhaled, in one long, shivering breath, so quiet and strange. Diana helped Bruce lift him up and out of the hole Clark had made in the ground, laying him down on the flat pavement, Bruce’s cape balled up under his head.

“He’s still got kryptonite in him,” Barry said anxiously, leaning over Clark to examine him more closely. Clark stared up at them, still desperate, still silent. “Oh, Christ, can he not hear us?” He looked up at Diana, nervous. “I don’t think he can hear us.”

“I think you’re right,” Diana said. She pulled out her hands and started flipping through sign language. Clark stared at her, then touched his ear with one slow-moving hand.

“Oh, shit,” Barry said. “God. I’ve seen movies. It’s probably from the explosion. He might have blunt-force trauma or something, too. Could be anything.”

“Keep going,” Bruce ordered. “The kryptonite. Keep taking it out.”

Diana nodded, returning her attention to digging out the pieces of kryptonite, Barry’s hands blurring alongside hers. Clark stared up at Bruce, still unblinking, still quiet.

“Don’t focus on the pain,” Bruce said, softly. Clark stared. Bruce didn’t even know if he could hear him, but he had to try. “Just focus on me.”

Clark reached up for his own throat again.

“I can’t breathe,” he said. “I can’t-”

“It’s almost over, Clark,” Bruce said. Clark was staring at his mouth; probably trying to read his lips. “Just, hold on a little longer.”

“Hey,” Arthur said behind him. Bruce turned slightly, but returned his attention to Clark when Clark reached desperately for Bruce’s face. “I don’t know if he knows anything, but he’s the last one in there.”

“I’ll take over, Diana,” Victor said, and Diana disappeared, replaced by Victor’s hands. The glow coming off his face illuminated Clark’s chest in an inhuman gleam. Bruce could hear the crack of Diana’s lasso whipping through the air to wrap around the last of the terrorists.

“What’s in your bullets?” Diana demanded. “What was in your bomb?”

Bruce could hear a number of things being said, any one of which might have been the catalyst that made Clark want to fly it up into space. When he heard “kryptonite,” he took a deep breath, then picked up his knife again.

“Kryptonite bullets, Bruce,” Diana said, reappearing at Bruce’s side. Cyborg was scanning Clark’s body while Clark stared straight at Bruce’s face, his mouth pressed into a tight line as he tried not to make any noise.

“I can’t let this go anymore,” Bruce said, finally just reaching in and pulling out the bullets when Cyborg pointed them out, one by one. He dug each one out and Clark just kept making eye contact with him the whole time. Bruce dropped each fragment into Barry’s arms, and, finally, when each piece was out, Barry sped away at the speed of light, carrying them far enough away for Clark to finally start to try and drag himself to his feet.

“No, stop,” Bruce said, pushing him back down. He could see the dozens of wounds starting to edge towards healing, and he knelt down and lifted Clark up, gingerly, trying hard not to jostle him too much.

“Where are you taking him?” Diana asked, but Bruce was already leaving.

“Batcave,” Bruce said. Clark was still staring at him, but his vision and focus seemed to be fading fast. He blinked, slowly, sluggish, then shut his eyes. Bruce stared at him for one beat too long, then looked to Diana. “You can come, or don’t. I’m going.”

Diana followed.

* * *

Clark felt like he had been hit by a truck.

Or, rather, he felt like what he imagined getting hit by a truck was supposed to feel like. Every time he had been hit by a truck, nothing much happened to him. Moreso to the truck.

He blinked, then groaned, trying to lift his hand to his head. He felt like he was moving through quicksand, and finally opened his eyes fully to find steel above his head. Different than the sky and Bruce’s face he had last seen.

“What the fuck,” Clark murmured, trying to lift his head. He settled for turning it to the side, where he found Bruce again, asleep in a chair at his side. “Bruce.” His voice was low, scratchy. He tried to clear it.  _ “Bruce.” _

In the next second, Bruce was awake; a beat after that, he was standing at Clark’s side, lifting his hand up to check the pulse in his wrist.

“Christ, Clark,” Bruce said, and Clark smiled, shutting his eyes again.

“If you’re already annoyed at me, then I’m going to be okay,” Clark said, trying to will his headache to go away. “Don’t quite remember what happened at the end there. Anything interesting?”

“Oh, just you, getting yourself shot and blown up,” Bruce said. Clark opened his eyes again and offered him a grin.

“The usual?” Clark asked. Bruce didn’t smile. Clark wondered if he wanted to.

“The usual,” Bruce echoed. Clark knew then that he did want to smile. “Why did you do that?”

“Why did I fly a bomb into space?” Clark said. “Come on, Bruce. World’s greatest detective? Try again.”

“I meant,” Bruce said, “that we’re a team. You didn’t have to act alone.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” Clark said. He shifted his hand around to hold Bruce’s. Bruce let him. “It was the best option on short notice.”

“You can move at lightning speed,” Bruce reminded him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Clark stared at him, frowning slightly. Then, he smiled, just a little. “Were you worried about me?”

Back to the stern stare. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Clark asked. Bruce frowned right back at him.

“Yes,” Bruce replied. Clark sighed, relaxing back against the bed Bruce had him in.

“Well,” Clark said, “what else was I going to do? What else could we have done?” He shifted to look at Bruce. “It was worth one of me to save you.” Clark stopped, then frowned. “All of you.”

“Oh, all of us.” Bruce pulled the chair over to the bedside and took his seat, squeezing Clark’s hand. “Of course.”

Clark hesitated, then tugged Bruce a little closer. Bruce seemed to pause before leaning over Clark and kissing him softly, ginger, like Clark was made of glass, which was laughable.

“I won’t break,” Clark whispered. Bruce cupped his face.

“You can,” Bruce said. “I saw it.”

Clark let Bruce press their foreheads together, take a deep breath, and gather himself. He could hear Bruce’s heart pounding, then steadying, just slightly.

“It’s alright,” Clark said, softly. “It’s alright.”

Bruce shut his eyes, just briefly, then opened them again to look into Clark’s. “If you say so.”

“I know so,” Clark said. “You can trust me. I can see _everything._ I can see that, too.”

“You forget who’s the detective,” Bruce said, and Clark scoffed.

“Some detective,” Clark said. “I’m the one who flew to space.”

“I’m not sure you understand what detectives are meant to do,” Bruce said, and Clark just reeled him in to kiss again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I was super distracted (by depression!) while trying to write this so hopefully it doesn't feel too disjointed.
> 
> I have a blog now to request imagines - I just like to make people happy. Submit requests [here!](https://imagine-in-the-fandoms.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> I also actually wrote a book. It was a long road but, I did it! Ta-da It's about two young ladies who hunt aliens and fall in love. If you want to read it, shoot me a message!
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
